


Combustion

by kosmickway (KMDWriterGrl)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/kosmickway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an apartment fire leaves Emily temporarily homeless, Rossi comes to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emily woke to the pop and snap of breaking glass and instinctively reached for her gun. Sliding the safety off and setting her finger on the trigger guard, she crept out of bed and edged toward her bedroom door.

Everything was utterly silent outside the door—in her apartment, that is. She could still hear the pop and snap of breaking glass and now that she was less groggy, she could tell it wasn’t coming from her apartment but from several stories below on the ground floor.

Still carrying her gun at the ready, she exited the bedroom, checking left and right before heading for the balcony. She unlatched the sliding glass door and was hit with the smell of smoke. Coughing, she peered over the railing and looked down.

An apartment two floors below was on fire. Smoke was pluming steadily into the air and tongues of flame were licking the sides of the building. The snapping she heard was the windows popping out of their frames and shattering onto the pavement below.

“Shit!” she gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned and ran back into her bedroom, grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt from the laundry stacked in a basket by the bureau and jamming her feet into her shoes. Her go-bag was sitting by the front door, exactly where she’d left it when she arrived home four hours ago, dead tired, from a trip to Denver. She quickly made her gun safe, slid it in among her clothing, grabbed her car keys and cell phone from the counter, slung the bag over her shoulder and bolted out of the apartment into the open air hallway.

“Auggie!” she yelled, skidding to a stop outside the apartment next door and banging on it with her fist. “Jerry! Fire! Wake up!”

Auggie, a charming and funny independent filmmaker who had bulled his way into her life despite her initial reticence, appeared at the door in rumpled sleep pants and a top. “Em, what the hell?” The breeze from outside hit his nostrils and seemed to wake him up. “Holy shit, what’s on fire?”

“Two floors down,” she said grimly. “Grab Jerry and get out.” She passed him her cell phone. “Call the fire department. I’m going to wake up the rest of the floor.”

“Meet us in the parking lot in front of your car!” Auggie yelled after her. “If I don’t see you in ten minutes I’m coming back up here for you! Don’t be a hero!”

Emily dashed down the hallway, pounding on doors. Other tenants who had heard the noise or smelled the smoke had stepped out to investigate. Some of them were all ready heading down the stairs with kids, neighbors, and pets, some carrying nothing but keys and cell phones, others carrying bags into which precious items had been hastily shoved. Jamilyn, a law student at Georgetown, was toting two messenger bags, a string net laundry bag, her cat, and an overstuffed purse down the stairs while trying not to trip in her flip flops and oversized yoga pants. Emily wanted to yell at her to leave her things and hurry but decided not to waste the energy. After checking the last door in the hallway, she ran back toward her apartment.

Auggie and his boyfriend Jerry were outside, ushering people down the stairs. Auggie had a lap top case and a camera bag slung over his shoulder. Jerry was toting a bag large enough to carry golf clubs—or a dead body, Emily thought with a flash of gallows humor. He had Butters, their caramel and white Corgi, tucked under his arm.

“Let’s go, Emily!” Jerry yelled, waving her down the stairs. “It’s all ready jumped to the second floor and over the firewall into the next building!”

They rushed down the stairs and broke for the parking lot where fire trucks and ambulances were pulling in. Firemen rushed to crack open the hydrants and hook up their lines. Policemen ushered the crowd back to a safe distance and toward the open courtyard several buildings away from Emily’s for a head count. Tenants from other buildings were out on their patios and balconies—some watching the firemen go through the intricacies of putting out the fire, others yelling questions and inquiries at the policemen, still others leaping railings and pushing in close with cell phone cams to capture the action.

Emily stopped on the sidewalk a safe distance away and stared at the building. She watched with her heart in her throat and her stomach churning as an orange glow built inside her apartment and smoke began to billow out of the still-open balcony door.

“It’s in mine,” she murmured. She watched as flames began leaping and the fire roared upward in spite of the water from the trucks. Her photos, her clothes, her books, her cookware… it was all being devoured in front of her, caught in the maw of a flame-eyed demon.

Auggie and Jerry’s apartment went next and she winced, thinking of all of the cameras and computers, editing equipment and monitors, lighting gear, DVD burners, and the massive DVD collection that was melting into plastic as they watched.

The stricken filmmaker was weeping, running his hands through his spiky blonde hair. “I’m so sorry, Auggie,” she murmured, feeling that the words were totally inadequate. “So sorry.”

“All my work,” he mumbled, turning to her. “All of my work, Em. My storyboards. My equipment. It’s gone.”

He leaned against the side of his car, put his head in his hands and cried. Jerry went to him, passing Butters to Emily so that he could hug his grieving lover. Emily held onto the shivering Corgi, buried her face in its fur, and turned her back on the burning building.

***

Derek Morgan was no stranger to late night phone calls but it didn’t mean that he enjoyed taking them. Groaning a little, he sat up, reached for his cell, and read the display.

PRENTISS CELL.

Now THAT was weird. If they were about to be called to a case, it would have been Hotchner on the phone, not Emily. Blinking, he hit the button marked ANSWER.

“Emily? You okay?”

“Derek.” She sounded … lost … which was a term Morgan could honestly say he had never thought to ascribe to self-assured Emily Prentiss. “My apartment just burned down.”

He did a mental double-take at her words. “Burned down? Your apartment? Are you—“  He broke off.  Of course she wasn’t kidding. “—okay? Are you safe?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stumbled over to the sink and began to run water on a toothbrush. “Where are you? I can come get you.”

“No, no, no, it’s okay. I’m—fine.” She actually laughed a little. “As fine as you can get when you just watched half your apartment building burn to the ground.”

“Was anyone hurt? Are _you_ hurt? Where are you?” Maybe it was the damn jet lag but he couldn’t get his brain to form a coherent line of questioning.

“No one was hurt. My neighbors and I, we got out okay. We’re at the Holiday Inn Express in Georgetown … me and everyone else from my building. The Red Cross is putting us up.” She laughed hollowly. “I don’t even know why I called you. I guess I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.”

Morgan shut the water off and sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to focus. “No, it’s all good, I’m glad you called. I’m glad you’re okay. Damn, that’s really scary, Em.” He ran a hand over his head. “Do you need anything? Did you manage to get anything out?”

“I’ve got my go-bag and my purse. My car. I’m okay for now. I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to come in, though. I’ll probably have to meet with my insurance agent or something.” She took a deep breath and sighed tremulously.  “I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before so I don’t really know how that goes.”

“I don’t either. I guess all you can do is worry about it in the morning.” He blinked bleary eyes at the clock, lay back on his pillows and pulled the blankets back over him. “Try not to worry. We’re all going to help you out.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I think … I think I’m going to try to sleep now.”

“Good. Call me later today, okay? Let me know how you’re doing.” He had a sudden thought. “You want me to call Hotch, let him know what went down?”

“No, I don’t want to wake up Jack. I’ll call him later.”

“Okay. Good night, Emily.”

After Morgan hung up the phone he found, annoyingly enough, that he couldn’t get back to sleep.

***

There was no way she was getting to sleep, not with images of flame and smoke and the crack of breaking glass bouncing around inside her skull. Emily reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp, acutely aware of how strange the bedsheets and comforter felt on her skin.

Her phone buzzed, signaling the arrival of a text.

_R U awake, M &M?_

Auggie. He and Jerry were the only people in the world who called her that. Auggie decided that it suited her when she moved in and had assigned it to her, nevermind her feelings on the subject of cutesy nicknames.

Her relationship—if you could call it that—with her neighbors was a strange one. When she moved into her apartment, Auggie and Jerry had been the first people she met. They went out of their way to make her feel welcome, showing her around the complex, cluing her in on problem neighbors, helping her move her belongings into the apartment. She liked them, as much as she liked anyone she didn’t really know, but had a lot of trouble accepting their overtures of friendship—not because she didn’t want to know them but because she simply didn’t have time to. That had always been Emily’s problem—cultivating friendships felt like too much work for the little it paid in return.

But Auggie had been persistent. He knew she was FBI and spent a lot of time in Quantico, which fascinated him to no end. He wasn’t a nuisance about asking questions about her job but he did let her know that creating a short film documenting her work was one of his dearest ambitions. Whenever she was home, he always stopped by to give her any mail and packages that came for her (it would have been stupid not to give him a mailbox key—no sense in her mailbox overflowing while she was gone) and to ask how her trip had gone. It sometimes helped to talk to Auggie after a long case— she never gave him gory details, but she did occasionally talk about the frustration she felt with human behavior, and it was refreshing to get the point of view of someone who didn’t have a psychology, behavioral health, or criminology degree.

They’d only really “hung out” a handful of times in the four years she’d been in her apartment, though it wasn’t for lack of trying on Auggie and Jerry’s part. They invited her to film viewings, to dinner, both out and at their place, and even to a showing of “Rocky Horror Picture Show” on Halloween (which she’d gone to because she was a closet RHPS fan). She had their phone numbers and they had hers in case of emergencies, but she didn’t know that she’d really call them friends.

Emily shook her head. It was all too confusing. But she really didn’t want to be alone right then, so she grabbed her phone and texted back.

_Yep. You?_

_Very awake. Want company?_

_Why not? Come on over._

Moments later she was ushering Jerry, Auggie, and Butters into her room. Jerry was carrying several reusable grocery bags which he sat down on the bureau.

“Thought you might need alcohol,” Jerry said, whipping out three bottles of Sam Adams and passing one to Emily. “And if we’re drinking, we might as well eat, too.” He pulled out two bags of tortilla chips, a jar of fire hot salsa, a jar of queso, and several microwaveable bowls and spoons, and began assembling snacks. 

“Stress eating. I’m up for that.” Emily patted the bed next to her. “Come on, Butters.”

The Corgi leapt up obligingly and settled down against Emily’s hip. She’d never had pets growing up—too much moving around—but she loved animals, loved them to the point of always fussing over pets at crime scenes and occasionally stopping at the DC Humane Society to cuddle the cats and look longingly at the dogs. One day when she settled down, she’d get a dog. In the mean time, Butters would do.

 Auggie dropped into one of the two armchairs near the bed, took a pull of his beer, and silently watched Jerry heat queso and spoon salsa into a bowl.

“What do we do now?” he asked glumly. “We don’t have anything left, Em. We had to go out to Wallyworld to get clothes and shoes, toothbrushes, and supplies for Butters!”

“What was it you were carrying out of your apartment?” Emily asked, accepting the bowl of queso and the bag of chips Jerry handed her. “You had a couple of bags and Jerry had something big enough to carry a body in.”

“Laptops,” Jerry said thickly, around a mouthful of salsa. “Aug got both our laptops, cell phones, and wallets. I got Gollum.”

“You got WHO?” Emily asked, perplexed.

“Gollum. From Lord of the Rings. That’s what we call the ginormous expensive camera in the really huge bag.”

“Why’s it called Gollum?”

“Because it’s our precious,” Auggie replied in his best Gollum voice—a pretty good one, actually, since he had been doing voice work on advertising and cartoons for years before turning to independent filmmaking.

Emily laughed and dropped a chip on the bed. Butters snatched it up and crunched away at it.

“What did you get out, M&M?” Jerry asked.

“My go-bag. I left it by the door when I came in this morning. That’s got my personal laptop and my work iPad, four changes of clothes, my cosmetics and shower kit, a change of shoes, my gun, my Bureau credentials, and my iPod. I grabbed my purse and keys as I was running out the door. And there’s a gym bag in my car with workout clothes, shower stuff, my boxing gloves, and an extra outfit.”

“A little better off,” Auggie said. “But that doesn’t make it suck any less.” He tilted his head back and drained his beer in five deep swallows, then reached for another. “How bad do you think it is in our places?”

“I heard the fire marshall telling the Red Cross guys they aren’t letting anyone in to salvage without an escort,” Jerry said. “They think the top floors are about ready to cave. We might not be able to get anything at all.”

“Fuck,” Auggie swore bitterly. “Godammit to hell!”

“You have renter’s insurance, right?” Emily asked, mentally taking inventory of the items she was likely to lose. She finally gave up cataloguing in her head, grabbed a notepad and pen from the bureau, and began jotting down a list. “Especially for all that equipment?”

“It’s not the equipment I’m worried about,” he replied petulantly. “It’s the work! There’s hundreds of DVDs worth of my work, my friend’s work, Jerry’s work, his friend’s work, not to mention the storyboards and the shot lists and the scripts.” He buried his head in his hands. “Oh, this fucking SUCKS, Emily!”

She reached out and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Auggie. Truly I am.” She sighed. “I guess we have to try to get in touch with our insurance agents in the morning.” She glanced at the clock. “In the afternoon. Or whenever. If we can’t get back in to assess the damage, I guess it doesn’t really matter.” She ruffled Butters’ fur, trying to stave off the feeling of panic rising in her chest.

They sat like that for several long moments, each of them thinking about what they’d lost and the monumental task of replacing and rebuilding ahead of them.

“Hand me another beer, Jerry,” Emily finally said, holding out a hand. “I can’t think of anything else to do but drink.”

***

JJ and Reid were settling down at the table in the sit room the next morning when Garcia came bursting in with all the force of a bomb exploding, waving her iPad.

“You guys! Oh my god! There was a fire in Georgetown last night!”

“Is this something I should have gotten a call about?” JJ asked laconically, scrolling through her newest pictures of Henry. “Is this an arson investigation?”

“No … I don’t think so …  But it was Emily’s building that caught fire!” Garcia blurted, unable to hold back. “I know because the name of the complex sounded familiar so I cross referenced Emily’s address! And now I can’t get her on the phone and she isn’t here and …”

“Prentiss is okay,” Hotchner said, walking into the room with Morgan and picking up the conversation midstream. “I just talked to her.”

“Me, too,” Morgan said, settling into his seat. “She called me when it happened.”

“Was her building affected?” Reid asked, looking concerned.

“It was,” Hotchner said gravely. “She lost her apartment.”

“Who lost her apartment?” Rossi asked, sliding into his chair with a mug of coffee.

“Emily did,” Garcia announced. “It burned down last night.”

“It did WHAT?” Rossi set the cup down with a thump. Liquid sloshed onto the table as he did an almost comical double take. “Run that by me again.”

“Prentiss called me a few minutes ago,” Hotch said, settling into his chair. “Her building caught fire around 2:00 am. Everyone got out okay but the building itself is pretty much a wreck. She doesn’t know when or if she’ll be able to go back into her place to salvage anything.”

“Where is she?” JJ asked, her voice rising. “Does she have a place to stay?”

“Red Cross provided hotel vouchers to all the displaced residents,” Hotch replied. “She’s at a Holiday Inn Express in Georgetown. When I talked to her she and her neighbors were going to go back to the building, take some pictures for insurance purposes, and see if they could get in to take a look at the damage. She won’t be in for a few days.”

“What can we do?” Garcia asked, her voice high and quivering. “We’ve got to help her somehow.”

“I think the best thing we can do for Emily right now is to wait for her to tell us what she needs.”

Garcia looked upset. “But—I need to be able to do something,” she said. “I can’t just …” She trailed off. “Flowers. That’s a start, right? And some gift cards so she can start shopping for new stuff. Maybe I can take up a collection …” She wandered out of the room, looking upset, and mumbling to herself.

Morgan watched her go, brow furrowed. “I’m with Penelope on this. I want to try to do something.”

“I do, too, Derek,” JJ said softly. “But I’ve gone through a house fire before. Believe me, insurance companies move at the speed of snail. There isn’t going to be a lot we can do for her other than just try to be supportive.” She pulled up the web browser on her iPhone and started scrolling. “Garcia’s on the right track with gift cards, though. Something to help her get on her feet.”

“Guys, I know it’s tough to focus when we’re all worried about Prentiss,” Hotch said, pulling their attention back to him. “But we still have a job to do. Let’s get the paperwork from the Denver case compiled and wrapped up and then we can see about helping her.”

There were nods around the table, though Hotchner knew just looking at his team that their thoughts weren’t on the spree killings in Denver, but were with their teammate in a strange hotel in Georgetown.

***

By the time Emily got back to the hotel she was ready to either collapse, cry, or simply split the difference and do both. She had a good idea of what survivors of a natural disaster felt like—overwhelmed, overstressed, and overemotional.

The Red Cross had set themselves up in the business center at the Holiday Inn to offer crisis counseling, to help get in touch with insurance agencies, to offer vouchers for meals and immediate necessity items at Walmart and Target. She, Auggie, and Jerry had decided to skip over that for the time being and had taken their cars over to the apartment complex to see if they could salvage anything from their apartments.

The police had cordoned off the area around the burned building. A pumper truck was sitting in the parking lot, suctioning out water that was ankle deep and filled with floating debris—insulation, glass, ash, and burned bits of plastic. A construction crew was erecting a snow fence—others were inside the courtyard, maneuvering several industrial sized dumpsters into place.

An officer was stationed near the taped off area, keeping the nosy at bay. Anyone who claimed they needed to get in to salvage was only allowed into the courtyard after he had checked a photo ID against a list of tenants. Once they’d ducked under the yellow tape, he pointed to a concrete bench, blackened by smoke, where a large container of surgical masks, gloves, and garbage bags sat.

“Don’t stay in there too long without coming out for fresh air,” he told them. “It’s pretty bad.”

Emily felt like commenting that the air didn’t feel any fresher out here—the whole complex smelled like a BBQ pit—but didn’t see a point in being snarky. She pulled on a mask and gloves and took a few trash bags.

“Are the floors stable?” she asked.

He shrugged. “The fire marshal said they are, but I don’t know if I’d trust that. I’d get the stuff you want the most out first and worry about non-essentials later.”

Emily nodded and turned to Auggie and Jerry. “Plan of attack,” she said. “We’ll tackle your place first then mine. Tell me what you want me to concentrate on.”

After a short discussion, they headed upstairs and into the damage path.

Auggie and Jerry began salvaging their equipment as quickly as they could, pulling camera bags out of closets, disconnecting the hard drives on their computers, and pulling lighting equipment. Their DVD collection was beyond repair, the plastic jewel cases having melted in the heat of the fire. The computer monitors were warped, and so were the towers, though Jerry insisted that some of the data might be salvageable. Emily made a mental note to ask Garcia if she could do anything with fire damaged equipment.

Some of the bookcases along the back wall had barely been touched and Emily set to work pulling books off shelves and packing them into boxes and bags. While the guys wrangled with equipment and began sorting through the kitchen, she pulled towels, linens, and clothes out of closets that seemed to have taken only superficial damage.

It only took them an hour to empty out Auggie and Jerry’s apartment because there wasn’t much to save. Jerry began hauling bags and equipment down to the car while Emily and Auggie headed next door to Emily’s apartment.

The fire had burned hotter in her place and there was even less to save. She began pulling clothing out of closets, though based on the smell of it, she’d never be able to get the smoke out of the fabric. Her fire proof safe was in the bottom of her closet and she got Auggie to haul it out for her, thankful that her records and a few mementos were safe.

Her books all went into bags and boxes, though she didn’t know how in the world she could get the smell of smoke out of the pages. Her DVD collection was trashed, so was her DVD player, her TV, and her stereo. There had never been much in her kitchen to begin with though she pulled out a set of Williams Sonoma copper pots that had been a gift from her mother and the family silver (mercifully unburnt) that had belonged to her grandmother.

A box of photos that had been in the closet could perhaps be salvaged … so could the photo albums, though the plastic pages were warped from water and heat. Her shoes were beyond repair and so were her handbags.

They gave up after an hour at Emily’s place and hauled all of her belongings down the stairs and into her car. Other tenants were arriving and going through the checkpoint, heading to their apartments with bags and surgical masks and looks of disbelief on their faces.  Some of them were carrying cameras to document the damage and Emily could have kicked herself for forgetting to bring hers … then, remembering that it was somewhere in her apartment and probably warped by heat, she groaned and added another item—“buy camera”—to her mental shopping list.

Back at the hotel, she showered to get the smell of smoke out of her hair and clothes and gathered the clothing from her go bag to run a load of laundry. As she was preparing to go down to the laundry room, there was a knock on her door.

She hadn’t expected to find the whole team outside her door, especially at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, but there they were, all six of them, each carrying a bag or box and Morgan carrying a vase of flowers.

“Hi,” Emily said in surprise, stepping back from the door. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“We decided to take a road trip,” Morgan said, handing her the vase. “To see if we could help.”

“Oh.” Emily found herself at a loss for words. “Wow. Um, sure, come on in.” The hotel room was bigger than their sit room, but it still felt crowded once everyone was in the room together. Garcia, as usual broke the silence by handing Emily a bright pink bag with bright green tissue paper sticking out of it.

“Prezzies,” she said with a smile. “Thought this might help.”

“Garcia, you didn’t have to—“

“Zip it, missy! I know I didn’t, but I did anyway, because that’s what friends do. So open the bag.”

Emily laughed when she found a new set of sheets and pillowcases, all in a beautiful deep maroon and gold pattern. “These are beautiful!”

“So you don’t have to sleep on hotel sheets,” Garcia said brightly. “I know what’s on those—I watched a Discovery Channel special.”

“Thank you!” Emily pulled Garcia into a hug, trying to hide the sudden tears that came into her eyes.

Everyone had brought her something. Reid contributed cleaning materials, lots of them—Febreze, industrial strength cleaners and solvents, brushes, rags, and plastic bags in all sizes. JJ brought a basic set of dishes and a gift card to the local grocery store. Morgan, grinning broadly, showed her a gift basket of high end coffee, filters, a coffee mug and a tin of her favorite biscotti. “I know you turn into a crazy person if you don’t have your coffee,” he said, giving her a gentle jab on the shoulder. Hotch gave her a set of towels and washcloths and a gift card to Linens and Things to help her buy whatever else she needed. And Rossi had a gift card for Barnes and Noble … “To start replacing your books,” he said, leaning in to give her a hug.

Emily was near tears by the time her friends had finished presenting their gifts. “Oh god, you guys, I don’t know what to say. This is too much.”

“No, it isn’t,” JJ corrected. “It’s just enough.” She leaned on the edge of the dresser. “Were you able to get into your apartment?”

Emily filled them in on the events of the morning, including their salvage efforts. “I’m such an idiot, I didn’t even think to take a camera to document the damage.”

“Hotch has one in the car,” JJ said. “So does, Rossi, I think.”

“We could run over there right now, get some pictures, start cataloguing what you lost,” Morgan put in. “I know you were just over there but it might be a good idea to do it before they start gutting the building.”

Emily sighed. She did NOT want to see the wreck of her apartment again. But her team had come to help her—she’d be a fool not to accept it.

“Okay,” she said. “But we can’t all go—they’re only letting tenants beyond the tape. I can maybe get one or two of you in with me but not all of us.” She got an idea. “Hey, Garcia, I’ve got neighbors with wrecked computers. Think you could try to work some magic?”

“Oh, I am SO on that,” Garcia replied. “Let me at it.”

Emily introduced Garcia and Reid to Auggie and Jerry, who were glad of the help. Morgan and JJ volunteered to stay at the hotel with some of Emily’s boxes of books, separating what might be saved from anything that was too far gone to worry about.

“Use surgical masks,” Emily directed them worriedly. “The smell is awful.”

Hotch and Rossi went with her to the apartment complex. They didn’t talk much and Emily was grateful for it. She couldn’t take any more questions about how she was or what she was going to do. She could barely think five minutes ahead, much less days or weeks down the road.

A different officer was on duty and she went through the process of showing ID. The officer was reticent to let Rossi and Hotch through the tape line until they both flashed their badges.

Both men looked around in sober silence as she photographed the apartment building, the structural damage, the debris in the courtyard, the blackened trees. They moved up the stairs and down the hallways slowly, Emily shooting photos of her apartment, Rossi shooting a set for Auggie and Jerry.

By the time they left the complex, they all smelled of fire and smoke. Emily drove with the windows down, though her car all ready smelled strongly from transporting her belongings.

“You guys have go-bags in the Denali?” she asked as they pulled back in at the Holiday Inn. “You’ll probably want to shower and change your clothes.”

She joined JJ and Derek in the courtyard where they were sorting through books with gloves on. The pile of things that could potentially be saved was a lot smaller than the pile of ruined books and Emily found herself perilously near tears. JJ noticed, as she always seemed to, and came to put an arm around Emily.

“Do you want to stay with us?” she asked. “We have an extra bedroom. Henry’s past the fussy stage now, he won’t wake you up.”

Emily knuckled tears out of her eyes. “Thanks, JJ, but I don’t want to ruin your home life.”

“You wouldn’t be! We’d love to have you!”

Emily shook her head firmly. “You see enough of me at work, Jen,” she said. “You don’t need me at home, too. I’ll be fine here until I find a place.”

She got an offer of apartment space from Garcia, too. She refused politely, acutely aware that bunking with Garcia would be exhausting and chaotic. A hotel room would at least be quiet and not so full of Garcia’s manic energy.

They all went out to dinner, though Emily was too exhausted to do more than pick at her food. By the time they left her at the hotel, she was ready to fall into a deep sleep where everything that was stressful and unhappy could be avoided.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” Rossi said when they reached the lobby. “Be back in a second,” he called to Hotch.

“I had a thought,” Rossi said when the elevator doors closed. “And I’d like to get your opinion on it.”

“Okay,” Emily said, barely listening. She was desperate to put her new sheets on the bed and fall asleep.

“—maybe you’d like to stay with me.”

“What?” Emily stared at Rossi, trying to tune back in to the conversation. “I’m sorry, I totally missed that.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “I figured that out, space cadet. I asked if you’d like to stay in my extra room. We spend so much time in hotels, it would be a shame if you had to stay in yet another one.”

“I—“ The offer floored her. JJ and Garcia would offer, of course, that’s what women did when their friends were in trouble. But Rossi, offering her a place to live? She wondered briefly if she’d fallen into the Twilight Zone. “Rossi, that’s really sweet but do you really think that’s the best idea? I mean, we work together.”

“And?” Rossi shrugged. “It’s not like we’re living in sin, Emily. It’s just one friend offering another a place to hang her hat until her apartment is repaired.”

“I don’t even know if they’re going to repair it,” she said. “The damage was extensive. I should probably just look for a new place to live.” That thought overwhelmed her, too, and her stomach jittered with nerves. “But until the insurance check comes … if it comes … I can’t really do that either.”

“So stay with me,” Rossi said coaxingly. “It’s your best option. You know you’re going to get sick of paying for laundry and going out to eat and hearing people walking up and down the halls at all hours of the day and night. At my place you can cook, do laundry, have a cup of coffee on the back porch, hang out with my dog. You can use my garage space to store your things until you find a new place.”

It DID sound appealing. Really appealing. She’d have a shorter commute to Quantico. She wouldn’t have to drive back to DC exhausted every night. And she wouldn’t have to sleep with her ear cocked at the door, unable to fall into a deep sleep for the noise of the people above and on either side of her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pulling her key card out of her pocket.

“Yeah?” Rossi asked. “You really will?”

“I really will. You’re right—it would be better than this. I’ll let you know soon.”

Rossi smiled. “Take your time. There’s no expiration date.”

Emily opened the door and stepped through. Rossi didn’t, keeping a professional distance.

“Thanks, Dave. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached out, touched her arm. “Get some rest, okay. Call if you need anything.”

“I will. Tell everyone else thanks again. I’ll check in with you guys tomorrow.”

With a nod, Rossi headed back down the hallway. Emily shut the door and leaned back against it.

Live with Rossi. Now THAT was an interesting idea.


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2:

Emily didn’t need more than a few hours to take Rossi up on his offer. She called him the next morning when she knew he’d be on his way to the office. He sounded pleased that she’d agreed and told her he’d stop by later that afternoon to help her move her things to his place.

The “refugees” from the fire received the news that the building had been too badly damaged to repair … it would have to be rebuilt. The complex was offering new units to everyone who had been displaced in the fire and wanted to stay on. They were guaranteed their old units back once they were re-built with no increase in rent.

“Wonder why they’re doing that?” Auggie whispered to Emily as the representative from the complex wrapped up his speech.

“Probably because they’re starting to think the fire was their fault—bad wiring, maybe,” Emily answered.

“Are you going to take them up on it—the temporary place, I mean?” Jerry asked. “We can pick apartments next door to each other again!”

Emily grinned at his enthusiasm. “I got an offer to stay with a friend and since his place is a lot closer to Quantico, I think I’ll stay with him instead of taking the temporary apartment … at least until the insurance check arrives. And then I might take something outside Georgetown, closer to work, maybe in Woodbridge or Montclair.”

Jerry made such a show of pouting and putting on sad eyes that Emily laughed.

“But wait!” Jerry brightened. “You said ‘him.’ Him who? Was it that little cutie you sent over yesterday with the genius blonde?”

Emily snorted inelegantly. “Reid? You’ve got to be kidding. I love Reid but he’s got the social skills of—“ She hesitated, not wanting to be cruel. “He’s got a genius level IQ and spent most of his childhood taking college level courses. Can you really see me staying with a guy like that?”

“Okay, then was it the hottie with the great guns who brought you the flowers?”

“Morgan. And no, not him.”

“Straight laced but still totally hot-to-trot accountant guy?”

Emily laughed aloud. “Accountant guy? He’s the unit chief, Jer! And the fact that you called him hot-to-trot scares me on a lot of levels.”

“Oh, come on! He is universally cute!” Auggie put in. “Not as cute as Jer,” he added quickly, putting an arm around his lover, “but still quite a stud.”

“I can’t think of Hotch that way. Sorry.”

“So then it’s the Italian stallion?” Jerry asked eagerly, clapping his hands. “Oh, Em, ride ‘em cowboy!”

Emily actually lost a mouthful of water down the front of her shirt at that. “Italian stallion?” she gasped, laughing. “Oh, now there’s an image!”

But an interesting image. Actually, a _very_ interesting image. A full-on, sexed up, hormone fueled image of David Rossi in leather chaps and a …

Emily shut down the mental safari her mind was so desperate to embark on and dabbed at her shirt with a napkin.

“Anyway, he’s just my friend,” she told Jerry (and herself, sternly). “He’s being very cool about the whole thing.”

“Just a friend,” Auggie said, giving her the eye. “Uh huh. Did both your pretty blonde gal pals offer you a place to stay?”

“Well, yeah, but …”

“And you’re staying with him instead?”

“Yes, but it’s not …”

“M&M, if you really are ‘just friends’ now, you’re not going to be by the time you leave his place. Guys like nothing better than to help out a woman when she’s been stricken by tragedy.” Auggie sang out this last in a Scarlett O’Hara style faux Southern accent. “It’s in their nature to protect and defend.”

Emily laughed. “I don’t need protecting, Scarlett,” she said, giving him a little nudge with her shoulder. “As God is my witness.” She hefted the box of cleaning supplies Reid had given her and headed for the courtyard where several trash bags of items from her apartment were waiting. “Come on, let’s get cleaning.”

***

Rossi found her in the courtyard a few hours later, up to her elbows in soot, solvents, and brushes. She was using canned air to blow ash out of the intricate stand of a faux Tiffany stained glass lamp. Several other people were seated around the courtyard, working with their own cleaning supplies, sorting salvageable items into bags and boxes and tossing others into a growing mound of black garbage bags.

“Emily?” When he didn’t receive an answer, he reached down and tapped her shoulder. She jumped and bobbled the lamp.  They both grabbed for it and managed to save it from falling onto the pavement.

“Jesus, Rossi, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Emily exclaimed, a bit too loudly. She pulled her iPod out of the back pocket of her jeans and it was only then that he noticed she was wearing ear buds. “I didn’t think you were coming till later.”

“I sold my soul to get out of there early and come get you.” He kneeled down beside her to peer at the lamp. “I tried calling but …”

Emily patted her pocket automatically for a phone that wasn’t there. “I must have left it upstairs,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” He brushed his fingers over the stained glass. “This is really beautiful.”

“And I’m really glad it survived,” Emily said, shooting a puff of canned air at the metalwork base. “It’s the most expensive thing I own.”

Rossi’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s REAL?”

“Belonged to my great grandmother. She bought it from Louis Comfort Tiffany’s showroom.” She picked up a soft cloth and began to lovingly and methodically clean the iridescent wings of the dragonflies. “Did you know he never actually designed these lamps? It was a woman named Clara Driscoll who did most of his design work. He took the credit, of course, but she did the designing and put together most of them by hand.” She looked over at him and smiled a little. “Which is why I’d have killed you if you made me drop it.”

Rossi watched as her fingers moved slowly over the glass, caressing it. She was so careful with it, more patient with this one project than he’d ever seen her before.

“Do you have something to wrap it in?” he asked. “So it doesn’t break on the drive?”

“In my room,” she said. “This thing has survived I don’t know how many transatlantic moves and now a fire.  At least my luck in keeping it safe is holding.” She handed him the lamp and rose to her feet, stretching her shoulders and her back. “Feels like I’ve been on my knees out here for hours. What time is it?”

“3:15.”

“I _have_ been out here for hours.” She started to gather her cleaning supplies. “Auggie, Jerry,” she called to two men sitting several feet away who were also meticulously cleaning. “I’m getting ready to go.”

The man with spiky blonde hair pulled ear buds out of his ear. “What’s that, M&M?”

“I said I’m getting ready to go,” Emily repeated, blushing at the nickname. “I’m moving my stuff to Rossi’s place.”

Rossi raised a hand in a wave.

“Call when you get there, okay?” the other man called. “Let us know when you get settled in.”

Emily looked amused. “I’m only going 30 miles, Jer, not to Mars.”

“Call anyway,” Jerry repeated. He looked at Rossi. “Take care of her now. She’s our precious.”

Emily laughed. “You’re insane. I’ll call you guys later.” She took the lamp from Dave, handed him the box of cleaning supplies, and headed inside.

“So…” he said as they waited for the elevator. “You’re their precious?”

“Inside joke,” she said with a smile. “The ‘my precious’ thing is from …”

“Lord of the Rings, yeah, I got that,” Rossi said.

Emily looked surprised. “You’ve read Tolkein?”

“Are you kidding? I practically grew up on his stuff.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“What, the sci-fi fantasy geek type?” Rossi laughed at her expression. “That IS what you meant, isn’t it?”

“Well … Yeah, I guess that is what I mean.”

Grinning, Rossi replied, “ _pedich edhellen_?” When Emily stared at him, uncomprehending, he added, “ _Aniral toled na gar nin_?”

He felt a glow of satisfaction when her mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, are you speaking Elvish?!” She gaped at him, shaking her head. “No way do you speak Elvish!”

“I just asked, ‘Do you speak Elvish?’ followed by ‘Do you still want to go to my house?’”

“You’re making it up!” Emily accused as they got off the elevator and walked toward her room.

“I’m not,” Rossi said. “You can check my accuracy at UsefulElvishPhrases.com.”

Emily had to lean against the wall, she was laughing so hard. “David Rossi speaks Elvish,” she gasped. “Oh my god! I mean Reid I could expect, but you?”

Rossi shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Emily Prentiss.” He took the key card from her unresisting hand and opened the door to her hotel room. “Come on, let’s get you packed.”

Still giggling, Emily started gathering the few possessions that were scattered around the room. Even with her hair up in a ponytail and most of her make-up worn off from hours spent cleaning in the warm sun, she still looked beautiful.

Rossi smiled and said another phrase in Elvish. “ _Melin ceni hin lin sila I’eladhach_.”

Emily turned to look at him, a grin on her face. “What did that mean?”

“I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh.” Shouldering her bag and the box of cleaning supplies, Rossi walked out the door, leaving her staring after him.

***

Rossi’s house was in an area that Emily characterized as “off the beaten path.” He lived in Aquia Harbor, an unincorporated town 20 minutes away from Quantico close to the Potomac and surrounded by forest. It was a two-story house painted a soft cocoa with dark maroon shutters and white trim, surrounded by acres of lush grass that backed into the woods. There was a two car garage and a small colonnaded front porch and several neat but unassuming flower beds. She didn’t know what she expected Rossi’s house to look like, but certainly nothing as … suburban as this.

“Let me show you around and then we can move things into the garage to air.” Rossi led her up the front walk, unlocked the door, and disarmed the alarm system. “I’ll give you a key and the alarm code later.”

Emily nodded, taking in the space. The floor plan for the house was nothing like she was used to. The front door and garage door opened into the same small foyer. Stairs straight ahead marched up to the second floor while a living room opened up to her left. It was a nice room, airy, with large windows. The living room flowed directly into the dining room which immediately opened onto a long kitchen that ran the length of the back of the house.

“This is beautiful,” she said, studying the décor. It was understated and tasteful, like Rossi, and made for comfort. The living room contained a very comfy looking overstuffed couch and a similar looking armchair, a wall mounted flat screen TV, a coffee table, and tall lamps next to the couch and arm chair—the better to read and write by, Emily assumed. The wall adjacent to the foyer held several tall bookcases filled with books … both Dave’s and other authors.

The dining room was minimalist and functional, with a four person table, chairs, and a side board with a wine rack, bottles of liquor, glasses, and all the makings for drinks. Emily grinned when Dave slid back a panel in the sideboard to reveal a refrigeration unit with bottles of white wine and champagne.

The kitchen was not that of a typical bachelor. It had been decorated by someone who liked to cook but didn’t have much time for it. The center island was marble and actually had a rack of copper pots hanging over it. The stainless steel fridge, sink, and gleaming range were top of the line models. The cabinets were deep cherry finished with brass fittings. A microwave, a blender, a convection oven and toaster, and a coffee maker all had their own niches on the counter under the window. A shelf of cookbooks was right at eye level. Emily was surprised to note pots of herbs growing on the windowsill.  

 A door opened out onto the porch, which jutted into the backyard. Next to it was a sliding panel the size of a large doggie door. 

“Watch this,” Rossi said with a wink. “You may want to step back though.”

Rossi flipped a switch on the kitchen wall. A light above the sliding panel began to blink.  Then he stuck his head out the door and called, “Mudge! Come on, Mudge!”

A moment later the sliding panel opened with a whirr, admitting a panting chocolate lab. As soon as the dog was through, the panel slid shut with a click.

“Hey, Mudgie, hey fella.” Rossi bent to pet the dog’s head. “Who’s a good boy?” He turned the lab’s attention to Emily. “Say hi to Emily. She’s our guest.” He glanced up at Emily. “Let him smell you.”

She obediently held out her hand and allowed the lab to sniff it, then lick it, then butt his head enthusiastically against it.

“Automatic doggie door?” she asked. “I didn’t know there was such a thing. How does it work?”

“A sensor on his collar. When I activate the sensors on the door, they open when he’s nearby. Lets him go in and out whenever I’m home and don’t want to get up from my work. When I’m out, I keep the door off so he stays outside.”

“And it’s better than a conventional doggie door because it won’t open without his collar sensor, will it?” Emily intuited. “So no break-ins by idiots who try to crawl in through the doggie door.”

Dave tapped the side of his nose. “Got it in one. Gives the Mudge Man his freedom and keeps me from having to let a hyperactive lab outside every time he wants to run after a squirrel.” He pointed at the door at the end of the kitchen. “Laundry room’s down there.” He turned and headed upstairs. “I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

At the top of the stairs, the hallway branched off in two directions. To the left were two doors—a master bedroom, Emily noted, catching a glimpse of a king sized bed with a deep blue and gold comforter, and a large bathroom with windows that overlooked the front lawn.

To the right was an office, another bathroom, and another bedroom.

“Guest room’s right here,” Rossi said, ushering her into the room next to the office. “I don’t actually use the office very much … I usually work down on the couch with my laptop. So I won’t be bothering you. Most of my library’s in there—personal and professional—so feel free to browse.” He cleared his throat. “I, um, I have to admit I hadn’t really done much with this room since I don’t have guests. Ever. But Garcia made some suggestions. I hope this works for you.”

He opened the door and a grin immediately spread across Emily’s face.

Garcia’s influence abounded. The colors in the room were bright and warm—jewel toned reds and maroons that nearly matched the outside shutters. The queen sized bed sported a red and maroon comforter shot through with gold and black threads and lots of pillows. Curtains in the same shade hung at the windows, held back with loops of gold braided cording. A deep Oriental rug in matching colors cushioned the floor in front of the bureau. Tasteful black and white photos—both landscapes and cityscapes—adorned the walls.

“This is gorgeous!” she said, looking around. “I love it.”

Rossi looked pleased—and slightly sheepish. “It was all Garcia, really. She told me what to pick out and even how to arrange it.”

Emily felt a warm glow that he’d gone to the trouble to fix up a room for her—a room that he’d obviously put a lot of thought into.

“Well, it’s perfect,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. “Thank you.”

He stepped closer to her, then hesitated and stepped back. “Bathroom’s across here. I put towels and soap and everything you need on the counter.”

“This is great,” Emily said again, breaking the silence that was building. “I’d better bring my stuff in. It looks like it wants to rain.”

“I’ll go open the garage door,” Rossi said, turning away and hurrying down the steps. “I’ll meet you down there.”

Emily took another peek at her room and couldn’t help grinning. The first thing she’d bring upstairs was her lamp. It would fit the colors of the room perfectly.

For the first time in days, she found herself humming slightly as she went down the stairs behind Rossi.


	3. Chapter 3

Emily sighed and rocked back on heels, surveying the mess of objects spread over Dave’s garage floor. Everything she owned in the world had been reduced to a tangle of soot and ash stained ephemera. It was unnerving how totally helpless that made her feel.

Dave turned from the washing machine, which was chugging away at a load of towels and clothes and gave Emily a crooked smile.

“A little overwhelmed?”

“A little doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. “This is … I don’t even know where to start.”

“Clothes are a good start,” Rossi said, gesturing to the washer. “And JJ and Morgan worked on the books yesterday, right?”

“Yeah, but I have no earthly idea how to get the smell of smoke out of the pages. There are books in there I’ve had since I was a kid! There are things I can’t replace. I’ve got a copy of Dante in Italian that my first boyfriend gave me. Am I supposed to keep it in a plastic bag the rest of my life because it smells like smoke?” She stopped, dangerously close to tears.

Rossi came over and extended a hand to help her up. “We can look up fire clean-up on line. Right now it might be better just to leave it. If you’re about ready for some dinner, I can cook.”

“Oh, Dave, you don’t have to do that. I can fend for myself.”

He shrugged. “I want pasta so I’m making it. It’s as easy to make pasta for two as it is to make it for one. It’s not any trouble.”

Emily acquiesced with a nod. “All right. Tomorrow I’m cooking, though.”

“Sounds like a fair deal. How do you feel about garlic alfredo sauce?”

“It sounds decadent and amazing.”

“Good. I’ll get it started.” He released her hands. “Mudgie might follow you upstairs. He’s curious about new people. Kick him out into the hallway if he bothers you.”

“Okay.” Emily headed upstairs and Mudgie did, indeed, follow her, settling onto the rug in the center of the room, guaranteeing she’d have to step over him every time she wanted to move.

It only took ten minutes to unpack her meager belongings, which was depressing in and of itself. The fact that her home was gone, that most of her belongings were utterly destroyed, was starting to sink in and a sense of panic was overtaking her. She knew all about trauma, of course, and understood that the feeling was a normal part of the aftermath of a major life crisis. But counseling others through a crisis was much easier than trying to counsel herself.

Unpacking done but not yet ready to go downstairs, she curled up in the window seat and looked out at the rain drenching the yard.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt yet about staying with Rossi. She was touched that he’d asked her—he was obviously concerned for her well-being. But she couldn’t help but wonder if there was an ulterior motive there, too.

To say that Dave Rossi was unreadable wasn’t exactly accurate. She could read him, but only to a certain extent. He never shied away from showing emotion about a case but it was rare that he let that same depth of feeling show when it came to his colleagues. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about them—Emily would never question his loyalty and commitment to the team—it seemed as if he felt, somehow, that it might be dangerous to show those emotions. But Emily could feel him watching her sometimes, his eyes on her as she moved around a scene or paced up and down the aisles of the plane. There was warmth in his gaze that was reserved only for her—she knew that only because she’d never seen him give the same look to JJ or Garcia.  

There was a soft knock at the door, interrupting her musings.

“Come in.” She smiled as Mudgie sat straight up at attention when Rossi walked in.

“Dinner’s ready.” He reached down to pat the dog. “Made a new friend, I see.”

“Are you talking to him or me?” Emily joked, swinging her legs down from the window seat and rising.

“Either.” Rossi smiled. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”

“Not at all. He’s good company.” She reached down to pat Mudgie and her fingertips brushed Rossi’s. “I never had a dog growing up.”

 “Too much moving around?”

“My mother hates mess and debris. Just the thought of cat or dog fur on one of her good suits was enough to make her declare a ban on animals.”

“That sucks,” Rossi said frankly. “Every kid should have a pet of their own, an animal that loves them unconditionally. It made my childhood a hell of a lot better to know that there was at least one being on the planet that was never going to let me down.”

Emily ruffled Mudgie’s fur and thought of Butters, how comforting it had been to hold the corgi when her whole life was going up in smoke in front of her.

Her fingers brushed against Rossi’s again. He smiled at her and rose. “Come on and eat while the bread’s still hot.”

At the word “eat” Mudge took off down the hall. Emily laughed. “He knows what _that_ word means, I guess.”

Rossi shook his head. “He even seems to know when I’m on the phone with the pizza place.” He ushered her out of the room ahead of him and followed, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder.

They ate in the dining room with Mudge begging at their feet. It was a simple meal—pasta, fresh bread, a Caesar salad. After some deliberation, Emily accepted a glass of wine. If she was going to live in his house, it was a good idea to keep the professional boundaries in place. But at the same time she also wanted him to know that she was comfortable enough around him to have a drink and let the walls down. The inherent conundrum made her head hurt, so she simply went with her first instinct which was, after a long and rather disappointing day, to indulge just enough to blur the edges.

She worried they wouldn’t have enough to talk about. She didn’t want to bring up work and Rossi was savvy enough to know that talking about the fire would only keep her up for hours, pacing the floor. She knew a moment of panic when, once they had their meals, they began to eat and there was only silence. Just as she was searching for something to say, no matter how asinine, Rossi looked up from his pasta and said, “Bob or Cigarette Smoking Man?”

Emily blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a game. One of my nieces plays it with her best friend. It’s called ‘either/or.’ Given two choices, you pick which of the two you prefer. So, given the choice of recurring antagonists on a sci-fi series, who is better—Bob or Cigarette Smoking Man?”

“Surely you’re not comparing ‘Twin Peaks’ to ‘The X-Files.’”

“Why wouldn’t I be? ‘Twin Peaks’ clearly influenced Chris Carter’s creation of ‘The X-Files.’ Supernatural elements combined with violent crime, a skeptical FBI agent, townspeople with strange and suspicious backstories … you’ve got practically every base element for ‘The X-Files’ right there! Plus there’s the whole David Duchovny as a cross-dressing DEA agent thing.”

“’The X-Files’ is CLEARLY the superior TV show,” Emily argued. “’Twin Peaks’ is a mess of garbled storylines, bizarre characters, sub-par acting, and semi-humorous dialogue that’s trying WAY too hard to be tongue in cheek. Comparing Bob to Cigarette Smoking Man is an insult!”

Rossi stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “I can see your mouth moving and all I hear is this string of blasphemy! You, Agent Prentiss, obviously need to be re-indoctrinated into the cult of ‘Twin Peakdom.’”

“If you think you’re going to get me to watch that series again, you’re insane. Once was bad enough.”

“It’s supposed to be bad!” Rossi protested. “It’s camp! It’s surrealism! It’s 90s television!” He drained the last of his wine. “Oh, Emily, Emily, Emily …” He picked up the bottle of Merlot and re-filled first her glass and then his. 

“Don’t Emily me,” she said, grinning at him. “No amount of begging is going to get me to re-watch that clunker of a series.”

“Oh, I’m not going to beg.” Rossi resumed his seat and passed her the bread. “I never beg. But I’ll get you to come around to my way of thinking eventually.”

“In your dreams,” she said cheerfully. “All right, my turn. Asimov or Bradbury?”

She had the pleasure of seeing Rossi actually splutter in response. “You can’t make me choose,” he protested, dropping his fork. “That’s cruel and unusual.”

Emily laughed. Maybe they’d have enough to talk about after all.

***

They cleaned up the kitchen together, she wiping down the counters and appliances, he placing the dishes in the dishwasher.

She laughed and made a disgusted face when he let Mudge lick the remains of alfredo sauce off his plate. He teased her about her carbohydrate addiction when she popped the last slice of bread into her mouth rather than let it go to waste.

She didn’t turn down a third … fourth?… glass of wine when he poured it for her. He didn’t stop his hands from lingering longer on her back than they should have when she brushed past him reaching for the sponge.

She didn’t protest … much … when he ushered her into the living room and turned on the pilot for “Twin Peaks.” And he didn’t protest at all when she insisted that they watch an episode of “The X-Files” to counter it and sat a little closer to him than she might normally have.

By the time ten o’clock rolled around, they were in the middle of an episode of classic “Star Trek” and dissecting the homosexual undertones between Spock and Kirk. Rossi had stopped drinking in the middle of the “Twin Peaks” episode, citing the need to be clear headed to counter any argument she might present regarding the superiority of “The X-Files.” Emily had finished her last glass of wine around the time they started watching “Star Trek.” She wasn’t drunk—he could spot someone who’d overindulged at a thousand paces— instead she was just relaxed enough to tune out the voices of worry and reason that he knew were constantly shouting in her head.

“I think we’ve exhausted Kirk and Spock’s love life,” Emily concluded, lounging back against the sofa cushions and giving Rossi a totally unguarded smile. “Hit me again.”

“Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett?”

“Adams, duh!”

“Okay, Douglas Adams or Neil Gaiman?”

“Gaiman! No brainer.”

“Gaiman or Stephen King?”

“Not even in the same league!” Emily snorted. “I demand a better choice.”

“Nope, that’s your choice. Gaiman or King.”

“But I like them both!”

“Life’s full of tough choices, Em. Tick tock.” He drummed the side of her wrist where she normally wore her watch.

Emily thought it over, giggling a little. “Ugh! Fine. Gaiman. But only because he hasn’t retired and then un-retired twice in the last decade.”

Rossi winced. “Ooh. You’re losing points for that.”

“You never said anything about keeping score! Since when have you been scoring?” She blushed a little as she registered her unintentional entendre. “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”

Rossi laughed. Emily laid her forehead on her arm, giggling. “God, you should never have given me that last glass of wine! I sound like an idiot … a drunk idiot. Playing the world’s geekiest game show.” She giggled again. “And not scoring at all well, apparently.”

Her attempt at a joke made him grin, even if it did fall rather flat. He laid a hand on her arm. “You sound like you’re happy. I like hearing that in your voice.”

Emily smiled. “I am happy. Right now anyway. I’m happy not to be in the hotel another night. I’m happy I didn’t have to eat take-out for dinner again. I’m happy there’s a dog snoring by the couch and that I’m playing a stupid game with you.” She covered his hand with hers, met his eyes with her warm, beautiful ones. “Thank you for having me, Dave.”

“You don’t know how much I want to _have_ you,” he thought, his pulse picking up at the thought.

He laid a hand on the side of her neck. “Any time,” he murmured, his voice more husky than he would have liked. “Whenever you need me. I’m here.”

There was a charged moment when the air was alive with possibility, when his hand on her neck, hers on his arm, their faces close together could have spilled into something else, something deeper, more carnal. It would only have taken a word or a movement from either and a sharp streak of white lightning would have seared them both from the inside out.

Then Dave let his hand fall away, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of her neck, brushing against her pulse point. And she eased her grip on his arm and withdrew her hand, her fingers lingering longer than they ought on his bare skin.

“I ought to—“ Emily pointed at the stairs. “Check email before bed. And call Auggie.”

“Yeah, and I should let Mudge out,” Rossi said, rising. The lab followed suite, eager for a visit to the night-time yard and its tantalizing smells. “If you need anything just knock on my door.”

“Thanks, I will.” Emily followed him into the kitchen to rinse her wine glass and put it in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You don’t have to get up,” he protested. “You’ve got tomorrow and Friday off for personal days. Sleep in.”

“I’m no good at that. I’ll crash later in the day--probably on the back deck with a book.” Emily gave him a warm smile. “Thanks for dinner, Dave. I’ll whip up something for tomorrow night.” She started for the door then turned. “Good night, Mudgie.”

The lab galloped over to Emily and pressed his nose against her palm. She fussed over the big dog for a few moments while Rossi watched. Finally she looked up and said, “Okay, I’m really going to bed this time. Good night.”

“Before you go—“ Rossi found the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Love or lust?”

Emily thought for a moment then smiled. “Why not both?”

“Why not indeed?” Rossi thought as he watched her walk out of the kitchen. He was certainly feeling enough of both when it came to Emily Prentiss.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't the fact that she seemed to love his dog almost as much as he did. More than once recently he’d come home from running errands to find her playing a rough and tumble game of tug of war in the yard with Mudgie. Watching them made his mouth pull upward in a grin in a way nothing else could.

It wasn't that he finally had someone to cook for or that he was starting to really enjoy having someone else cook for him-- even if he did need to do a little advising, correcting, and once even fire fighting when she burned a chicken almost beyond recognition.

It wasn't because they had fallen easily into the habit of watching an episode (or two or sometimes even three) of "The X-Files" or "Twin Peaks" (depending on who was doing the cooking that night) while preparing and eating dinner, or because they played "either/or" while they sat down with their laptops and banged out the required reports on their cases.

No. It wasn’t any of that.

Well ... maybe it was. If Dave Rossi really allowed himself to stop and think about it, he'd have to admit to himself that he was falling hard and fast for Emily Prentiss for all of those reasons.

But there were more reasons, too, so many more. In fact, Rossi found himself agreeing more and more with The Police … every little thing the woman did was magic.  

Emily loved to browse in his library late at night when she couldn't sleep and often read "Lord of the Rings" aloud to herself (or, increasingly, to Mudge who was spending more time in her room than in Dave's) in a British accent until she fell asleep with the book in her hands.

She sang in Italian when she cooked and cursed in French when she was upset.

She listened to U2 when she ran, Melissa Etheridge when she cleaned, 80s contemporary when she cooked, and a 90s New Age/techno band called Enigma when she did yoga or pilates.

She slept in running shorts and a cami and smoothed Oil of Olay into her skin right before bed.

She was an ice cream junkie of the highest order and always kept a carton of chocolate raspberry truffle in the freezer.

She had a tattoo on her lower back that he hadn't quite had the courage to ask her about yet.

She was dangerously close to making Dave break his own rule about dating women he worked with.

But as anyone who’s ever been in even a semi-serious relationship knows, loving someone is never just wine and roses. There are bitter dregs from the bottom of the glass and thorns a plenty. And though Emily tried hard to keep her problems distant from Dave, he was perceptive enough to pick up on them. He knew that her sleeplessness came in large part from an overactive mind and a stubborn unwillingness to take even non-prescription sleeping pills.  If she wasn’t sitting in his library at 1am because she was worrying over the insurance settlement for the fire or finding a new place to live, she was sitting on the back porch or prowling the yard, fighting off nightmares about Ian Doyle. The lightly discolored area on her upper chest where Doyle had branded her constantly drew his eyes, as did the fact that she (unconsciously, he was sure) almost always kept one hand held protectively near her stomach when she was among a group of people, hyper-vigilant for an attack that she seemed sure would come at any second.

And because of that he sternly reminded himself not to put pressure on her. He wanted Emily to be comfortable with their current living situation, not just because of his feelings for her but simply because she was his friend first and foremost. So despite how often he wanted to touch her hand or arm or cheek when they sat close together and talked, despite the number of times “Emmy” tried to slip from his lips, despite the warmth that flooded his chest when he saw her sitting on the back porch, enthusiastically giving Mudge a belly rub, he made himself back off. Friendly and supportive, that was the way to go … even if it was taking all of his control to do it.

They’d both agreed that advertising their living situation wasn’t a great idea. Not that the team would think anything of it … but Erin Strauss might. The last thing either of them wanted was to attract Strauss’ attention, especially because she always seemed to be gunning for someone on the team.

So when Garcia practically yelped “why didn’t you TELL me?!” and dragged him into her office two weeks after Emily moved in, he couldn’t help but sigh and hope that she hadn’t all ready told Morgan what she thought she knew.

“Why didn’t I tell you what?” he repeated patiently.

“That you and Emily are LIVING TOGETHER!”

“Shh!” Rossi raised a hand to her lips.

“Oh, please, the walls aren’t exactly paper thin,” Garcia scoffed.

“But you’re not exactly whispering.”

“Okay, sorry.” Garcia flapped her hands impatiently. “But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me! I practically decorated her room for you! You could have said something then!”

“So you could broadcast it to everyone?” He winced at her hurt expression … Garcia was many things but a gossip wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry, Garcia. I didn’t mean it like that. But I don’t want it getting back to Strauss.”

“Duh! Who does? Look, my lips are sealed. Completely and totally sealed. Not a syllable shall be said to anyone who isn’t you or Emily. It’s just …” Garcia sighed. “You guys are so cute together and I’m so happy for you!”

“Whoa there! Emily and I are NOT together. She’s a friend and she’s staying with me because she’s having a hard time, that’s all.”

Garcia snorted inelegantly. “You just keep telling yourself that.” She grinned at his expression. “Oh, come on, I see the way you look at her.”

“And what way is that?”

“Like a fat kid looks at an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet.”

It was Rossi’s turn to snort. “I’m sure Emily’d love that comparison.”

“Besides, I saw you with her at the hospital.”

“What hospital?” Now he was really feeling confused… though that wasn’t uncommon in a conversation with Garcia, who had a tendency to let her exuberance overtake her.  

Garcia’s face grew somber. “After Ian Doyle stabbed her at the warehouse. I saw you with her in the PT room, helping her do her exercises. It was pretty obvious how you felt then.”

Rossi sighed and nodded. He knew exactly which day she was talking about.

_“Good job, Emily, I’m seeing some real improvement,” the therapist said. She glanced over at Rossi. “She tells me you’ve been encouraging her to walk.”_

_“I don’t think I said encouraging,” Emily responded. “I think I said bullying.”_

_Rossi grinned. “You say bullying, I say motivating.”_

_“Whatever you’re doing, you have my permission to keep it up,” the therapist replied, to which Rossi beamed and Emily scowled. “Emily, let’s get you down on the mat and do some core strengthening. It won’t hurt as much to walk or sit up straight once you get a few more sessions under your belt.”_

_“I hate this,” Emily complained, lowering herself slowly to the mat. “I feel old and feeble.”_

_“You’re not feeble,” the therapist replied matter-of-factly. “You’re recovering from an injury that caused a lot of damage to your core muscles. It’s going to take time to come back from that.”_

_She crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a stretchy blue resistance band. “You know the drill. Lie on your back like you’re planning on doing crunches. Grab your end of the band and use it to pull yourself up to sitting then lower yourself back down. Let your arms do the work, not your abs—I don’t want you injuring yourself any more than you all ready are. I just want to keep those muscles used to that movement. When you’ve healed more, you’ll rely on the band less and less to sit up.”_

_Emily nodded, lowered herself slowly and painfully to the floor, and took hold of one end of the blue resistance band. Her therapist knelt at her feet, holding the other end of the band._

_“Whenever you’re ready, give me a set of five. Go at your own pace.”_

_It may have looked easy but to someone who’d just had major abdominal surgery, it obviously wasn’t. Emily bit down on her lower lip as she worked her way through a set, struggling to keep her breathing even. Rossi watched without comment, though he sometimes leaned forward, fighting off the urge to touch her arm._

_Emily lay back on the mat, color slowly returning to her pale face. “I used to be able to do a hundred crunches without breaking a sweat,” she said, her voice torn by pain. “Now I can’t even do a set of five with a resistance band without feeling like I’m going to have a heart attack.”_

_“You’re doing FINE,” her therapist reminded her patiently, handing Emily a hand towel. “Just remember to—” She broke off as her phone vibrated on her hip. “I’m sorry.” She checked the display. “It’s my son’s school. Let me take this. I’ll be right back. Agent Rossi, if you want to help her do another set of five, you’re more than welcome to.”_

_“Oh, Heather, don’t say that!” Emily moaned at the therapist’s back. “Now he’s going to make me do it!”_

_Rossi grinned. “This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I played doctor as a kid but it’ll do.” He picked up the resistance band and held it out to Emily. “You ready?”_

_“No,” Emily replied flatly._

_“Sure you are,” Rossi responded cheerfully. “Just think—the sooner you get these done, the sooner you can re-qualify to get back on the team.”_

_He’d hit her weak spot. Emily rolled her eyes and shot him a dirty look. “I hate you sometimes, you know that, right?”_

_“I know,” he said. “And it just makes you want to try harder to show you can outdo me.”_

_“What an ego,” Emily said with a laugh. “You think this is all about you?” She grabbed the end of the resistance band and wrapped her fingers around it so tightly they turned white. “No wonder you have so much trouble getting a date.” She pulled herself up, hiding a wince behind a fierce scowl. “One.”_

_“And why I have three ex wives,” Rossi added, grinning. “They couldn’t stand my ego either. Janice said the way my head swelled when my book hit the top of the New York Times Nonfiction list reminded her of a Macy’s Parade balloon.” He nodded in approval as Emily completed a second crunch. “Two.  Good job.”_

_“I’d believe that,” Emily ground out, hauling herself up for a third time. “I bet you’re one of those guys who practice his autograph for hours on end.”_

_Rossi laughed. “Took forever to get the “R” just right in my last name. Four.”_

_“And your personal library is made up of all your own books.” Emily clenched her teeth through crunches five, six, and seven. On the eighth she gasped out a breath and grabbed hold of Rossi’s forearms. “I can’t do any more.”_

_“Sure you can. Two more and you’ll be at ten and we’ll call it a day.”_

_“I can’t. Seriously.”_

_“You can. You said you couldn’t walk down the hall on Monday and you did it today without even breaking a sweat. I know you’ve got it in you.”_

_Emily hunched over and shut her eyes, obviously fighting off a wave of pain. “Dave,” she gasped, her voice frantic and a little afraid. “I’m going to pass out if I try to finish that set.”_

_“Okay. No problem. Lie back.” Rossi moved to her side and helped her lower herself to the mat. “Don’t tense up,” he instructed, squeezing her shoulders. “Just breathe into it. I know it hurts.” He ran his fingers gently up and down her arms, which were trembling with effort. “I didn’t mean to push you, Emily. I’m sorry. I just want you to get better. If I’m a little too gung-ho about this, it’s because I want you back with us.”_

_“You just like watching me suffer,” Emily whispered, a faint smile twisting her lips. “Sadist.”_

_“I like watching you fight,” Rossi responded. He was still stroking her arm. “But I don’t like seeing you in pain.”_

_“My world right now is nothing but pain. But I’ll try harder to fight. For you.” She laughed softly, winced. “See? It IS all about you.”_

_“No. Make it about you.”_

_Heather re-entered the room then. “Sorry! Kid crisis.” She kneeled on the mat beside Emily and took her pulse. “Did Secret Agent Man push you too hard?”_

_Emily shook her head. “Just hard enough. I started feeling dizzy though, so he helped me lie down.”_

_Heather nodded. “It’s probably wise to stop then. Let me get you some water.”_

_Emily gave Rossi a considering look then said, “No, I’ll try to do another set.”_

_“Not on my account,” Rossi said quickly. “No way. If you’re feeling like you’re done, then be done.”_

_“I need to try,” she said. “I need to fight.”_

_Heather looked pleased, but still a bit concerned. “Are you sure?”_

_Emily nodded. “I need to know I can do this.” She looked at Heather. “Do you mind if Dave works this set with me?”_

_“Not at all. I’ll go get you that water.”_

_“You want me, the sadist slave driver, to do another set with you?” Rossi joked. “Seriously?”_

_“To keep me focused.”_

_He nodded and took the resistance band in his hands. “Ready?”_

_Emily bit her lip, nodded, and grabbed her end of the band. “Yeah.”_

_Pain and strain were clear on her face but she soldiered through, eyes locked on a spot on the wall just over Rossi’s shoulder. He, in turn, kept his eyes on her face, counting each rep with her. When she worked herself up to sitting for the fifth and final time, he caught her hands in his and held on to keep her sitting upright._

_“I’ve got you,” he assured her, helping her lean back against the wall. He laid his palm on her flushed cheek. “You did great.”_

“You looked like you’d have done anything to take that pain away from her,” Garcia said softly. “Whatever feeling makes you want to do that … love, lust, whatever … you feel it for her. I know you do.”

Rossi didn’t say anything—what could he say in the face of that?—but Garcia didn’t seem to need an answer. She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “You think she feels the same?”

“God, I hope so. I don’t know what I’ll do if it turns out she doesn’t.”

“Well, then you have to find out!” Garcia grinned at him. “Ask her out.”

“No,” he responded immediately. “No way, Garcia. Not a chance.”

“No,” she repeated incredulously. “What do you mean, no? You’re LIVING WITH HER! Ask her out!”

“I told you, that’s different. She’s staying with me because of the fire, not because we’re dating. Asking her out would ruin everything!”

“Oh, you are hopeless,” Garcia groaned, sinking into a chair. “How would asking her out ruin everything? You go out, you have a fabulous time, you end up back at your place dancing under the stars to Frank Sinatra … what could go wrong?”

“But what if we don’t have a fabulous time?” Rossi countered. “What if things get weird? What if we don’t have anything to talk about?”

That was a pathetic excuse even to his ears … he and Emily NEVER ran out of things to talk about.

Garcia rolled her eyes. “David Rossi, I cannot believe I’m hearing this from you of all people! You could give The Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World a run for his money! Women flock to you like you’re the guy in the Axe body spray commercials! What would make you think that Emily Prentiss would be insane enough to turn you down for a date or that you wouldn’t have an absolutely fantastic time if you did go on a date with her?”

“Well, three ex-wives for starters!” he blurted, then nearly clapped a hand over his mouth. Where the HELL had that come from?

“I’m sorry?” Garcia leaned forward eagerly. “Was that a personal confession from the oh-so-tight-lipped Special Agent David Rossi, the suavest man in the FBI? Was that the Cary Grant of the BAU admitting weakness?”

“Forget it,” he said, turning to go. “I’m not getting into this.”

“Dave,” Garcia said quietly. He turned back around. Garcia NEVER called him by his first name. “It stays right here.” She solemnly drew an X across her chest. “Cross my warm, fuzzy, romantical heart.”

He sighed and sat down. “You know my history.”

“I know your personnel file and I know the grapevine. That doesn’t actually mean I know much at all.”

Rossi laughed. “Good point. Garcia, I’ve been married three times. And each time … I was the one who screwed it up. It was never their fault. Carolyn, Janice, and Denise … they were good women … too good for me, really. I was never able to give them the time and attention they deserved. If I wasn’t half in and half out of some unsub’s brain pan, I was lost in my writing. I let my marriage come in second to my career … third, if you want to get technical about it … the Bureau came first and then my writing. It should never have been that way.”

“So what is it you’re worried about?” Garcia asked.

“What if I can’t put Emily first? What if I do the same thing to her that I did to them?”

“I think that if you’re this worried about it and you’ve put this much energy into thinking about it, you’re not likely to make the same mistake again. You’re not stupid, Dave.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. I made the same mistake three times all ready. You could argue that I’m triply stupid.”

Garcia laughed. “You have a blind spot when it comes to your job and your love life and how they intersect. Who doesn’t?” She waved a hand toward the bull pen. “JJ’s the only person who’s managed to make a relationship work in this job and that’s because she and Will both know the demands the job puts on you. They give each other leeway when they need it. Maybe you need to date someone who knows what this is like for you.” She gave him a sly look. “Like, say … Emily.”

Rossi laughed. “No matter what I say, you’re going to come up with an answer that puts the two of us together, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” Garcia picked up one of her pens from her desk—it had sparkly purple feathers glued to the cap—and waved it at him.  “You BELONG together. Seriously. And it isn’t just the way you look at her or the way she pretends she isn’t looking at you.” She grinned at his expression. “Oh, please, you haven’t noticed her checking you out? Sheesh, you men are so oblivious. Anyway … it’s not the looks or the lust or anything else that makes you guys work—it’s the fact that you’re interlocking puzzle pieces. You fit together AND together you fit into the bigger picture. That’s what’s going to make you work.”

Rossi smiled at Garcia, genuinely fond of the sweet, quirky blonde. “You ever think about doing this for a living?”

“What, counseling the lovelorn? God, no. I’m no psychologist.”

“You sound pretty close to one to me.”

Garcia shrugged. “I know my guys and gals, that’s all. I couldn’t do this for anyone BUT you guys.” She leaned forward and squeezed Rossi’s hand. “You going to ask her?”

Rossi took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll ask her.”

“Yes!” Garcia squealed, throwing the pen in the air. “Okay, now, here’s what you ought to do …”


	5. Chapter 5

This was really the life, Emily Prentiss thought as she settled onto the lounger on the back deck. A perfect Virginia spring day with low humidity, a cool breeze, and nothing but the sound of bird song. She had a good book in her hands, a glass of iced tea on the table next to her, and a goofy dog running around the yard in front of her, snapping at butterflies. If her insurance company wasn’t being so damn unreasonable, things would be about as perfect as they could possibly get. 

She leaned back on the sun-warmed cushions and adjusted her sunglasses. She’d been sitting out in the sun so much recently she was starting to get the barest hint of a tan on her pale skin. The decadence of sitting on a quiet back porch facing the Northern Virginia woods was still intoxicating. She’d rarely sat out on the patio in her apartment and then only at night … it was too busy and noisy during the day to make it worth her while.

She flipped open the paperback and dove back in eagerly. It wasn’t the sort of novel she usually read, but Rossi had brought it home to her a few nights earlier.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking the book from the bag. “You went to Barnes and Noble without me?”

“Had to stop for Mudge’s food,” he said, heaving the bag of Purina Science Diet into the pantry. “It was right next door.”

“The Black Swan. Not like the movie, though, right?”

“No, definitely not. This is a re-telling of “Swan Lake” from the point of view of Odile, the sorceror’s daughter.” He pointed to the cover, which was a beautiful rendering of the main character, Odile, in a jet black dress encrusted with jewels and feathers, holding a swan mask, walking next to the glowering sorcerer, Von Rothbart, menacing and almost Viking-esque, who was carrying a mask of his own face turned into a cheerful smile. “The artwork caught my eye. Then the title. And when I read what it was about …” He shrugged. “I thought of you. I don’t know why.”

Emily smiled and flipped the book over to read the back. It sounded intriguing and just escapist enough to keep her mind off of her anxieties regarding her insurance company and the damage estimate she’d just turned in.

“Thank you,” she said warmly, rising onto her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait to read it.”

Now, almost 100 pages in, she was hooked … not just on the story, which was compelling enough, but on the way the author’s prose had of making her forget completely and utterly where she was and about anything that was going on. It was Tolkien-esque in that regard … like she’d been transported to another world completely.

She was jolted back to reality when she heard the garage door open. Mudge barked and shot across the lawn, skittering up the steps with a clatter and into the kitchen.

“Whoa, Mudge!” came Rossi’s voice, laughing. “Down, buddy. Down. Glad to see you, too, boy.”

Emily heard the sound of the cupboard door opening, of Rossi digging for a treat, of Mudge’s happy whine of approval, and then of the dog’s nails clicking on tile as he came out through the door and into the yard.

“Em? Are you home?”

“Out here,” she called, marking her page. “In my own personal paradise.”

Rossi appeared at the door, pulling off his tie. He smiled and sat on the end of the lounger. “Hey. How’d it go?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “The damn apartment complex hasn’t completed their investigation or turned in their damage reports. So my insurance company can’t do anything until it has a complete listing of everything lost in the fire, including the stuff in my apartment that wasn’t even mine to begin with … you know, washer/dryer, dishwasher, refrigerator, that kind of thing. Then they factor in all of my stuff that was damaged or lost, do some math, and come up with some kind of arbitrary number to determine how much money I get. Basically, it’s going to be awhile.” She heaved a sigh. “So I came back here and decided to read instead of going back to work. Don’t tell Hotch, okay?”

“I don’t think Hotch would blame you one bit.”

Emily eyed the tie. “Did you have a meeting with Strauss?”

“Actually, I had a meeting with the Director. My next book is going to be on cold cases. He wants to approve the cases I plan to write about.”

“Which ARE you planning to write about?”

“The usual suspects … Zodiac. Black Dahlia. Lindbergh baby. NOT Jack the Ripper.” He shrugged. “Although I was sort of thinking about focusing on child abduction and murder cases instead and how they’ve increased over the last 30 years. Start with the big ones like Adam Walsh and Polly Klaas, then go into Elizabeth Smart, Jaycee Dugard, Madeleine McCann, JonBenet Ramsey.”

“It’s never been proven that JonBenet was the victim of an abduction or even an attempted abduction,” Emily pointed out. “The ransom note made it seem that way but whoever left it never even made it out of the house with her. But arguing aside, I like that idea better than the cold cases. Everyone’s done cold cases. Even Henry Lee, though he did the forensic side of it. I’d like to see a good book about trends in child abductions, though. It would be really helpful since they are, as you said, on the rise.”

“So you think I should put cold cases on hold?”

“Unless you think it would be easier to do than a child abduction book. I mean, that IS really tough material to live with.”

Rossi nodded. “It is. But I think I can handle it. If I’ve got distractions on other fronts, that is.” He nodded at her. “Like a beautiful woman reading a book on my back porch.”

Emily blushed. “Thanks,” she said, trying to hide how flustered it made her feel to hear him call her ‘beautiful.’ “It’s really good. You should read it.”

“Not really my style,” Rossi replied. “I’ll stick with ‘Game of Thrones.’”

“Why is it that men are only willing to appreciate ‘guy oriented’ fantasy whereas women are perfectly willing and able to enjoy both?” She grinned when Rossi sputtered in indignation-- she loved goading him. “I think it’s because we’re more open-minded about our reading choices. And I think you guys are terrified of being asked why you’re reading a ‘girlie’ novel.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start!” Rossi started before his cell phone cut him off. “Rossi. Hey, Garcia.” Emily was interested to note that his face flushed as he spoke to their technical analyst. “No, not yet … I just got home a few minutes ago, cut me some slack! … I will … I said I would, didn’t I? … All right … Talk to you later, Garcia … Bye.”

“What was THAT about?” Emily asked, amused.

“Just something I said I’d do,” Rossi replied, suddenly very intent on watching Mudge gallop around the back yard.

“Something you said you’d do?” she parroted. “Something that makes you blush? What did you say you’d do, proof-read her erotica?” Emily yelped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, shit! I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that! Delete, delete, delete!”

It was Rossi’s turn to look amused. “Garcia writes erotica? Are you KIDDING me?”

“No! She doesn’t! I mean, not under her own name or anything. She just … oh, FUCK!” Emily swore. “Dave, forget I said that, okay? Please. She’ll kill me for saying anything.”

Rossi laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll forget you ever said it.”

Emily eyed him suspiciously. “On one condition, right?”

“Nope. On no condition. I won’t say anything, you won’t say anything, and Garcia’s secret is safe.”

“There’s a catch here, I just know it.”

“Are you implying that I won’t do something nice unless there’s something in it for me?” He crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. “Think hard before you answer, Young Jedi.”

Emily was saved from having to answer by Mudge, who came running up the stairs and dropped a well-chewed hunk of rope at her feet.

“Oh, looks like Mudgie wants to play tug of war.” Emily bounded up out of the chair and grabbed the rope. “Come on, buddy!”

Rossi grinned as he watched her walk out into the yard and offer the end of the rope to Mudge, who began pulling on it determinedly.

“You feel like going out?” he called, much more at ease now that she wasn’t staring at him with those gorgeous eyes.

“Out where?” she asked, wresting the rope from Mudge and throwing it out into the yard. The lab took off like a shot and came pelting back, panting, to drop the rope at Emily’s feet again.

“To dinner. Somewhere nice.”

“I don’t have anything nice to wear. Most of my clothes still smell like smoke, even with repeated washings. I’m dropping them at Nosmo King’s on Monday.”

“Who the hell is Nosmo King?”

“A company that specializes in mold, smoke, water, fire, and crime scene clean-up. They’re going to have a go at my clothes and some of the books.” Emily yanked at the rope Mudge was trying to get away from her, throwing her whole body into the game. “But to get back to your question, I’d love to go out but I don’t have anything nice to wear.”

“We don’t have to go someplace dressy. Jeans and a nice top will work.”

“Where’d you have in mind?”

“Cristobals.”

“That gorgeous French place out by the interstate?” Emily pulled on the rope again, setting Mudge to growling. “That’s date-night nice.” She stopped pulling long enough to look at Rossi. “Dave, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Well … yes.”

A triumphant tug from Mudge both pulled the rope out of Emily’s hands and yanked her forward, sending her stumbling to her knees on the grass. Rossi dashed off the deck.

“Mudge! Bad dog! Are you okay, Emily?”

Emily was laughing hysterically and reaching for the dog by the time he got to her side. “I’m fine,” she said, grinning, ruffling the dog’s fur. “He knows how to win a game, that’s for sure.”

“Take advantage of a weak moment,” Rossi said, rubbing Mudge’s nose. “He learned that from me.”

Emily grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “Gee, really?”

“So how about it?” he asked, meeting her eyes. “You want to go on a date with me?”

“By date you mean dinner, dessert, maybe a movie afterward?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Although ‘movie’ might turn into ‘several episodes of Twin Peaks,’ seeing as how there’s nothing good in the theatres right now.”

“So, basically, what we normally do on weeknights … we’d just be calling it a date.”

“No.” Rossi shook his head. “No, there’d be differences. You’d wear whatever it is you’d wear on a date with a guy you like … perfume, your good jewelry, shoes you’d never EVER wear to work. And I’d break out the really expensive cologne. And we’d spend a lot of time making eye contact over the wine bottle and trying to size each other up with tentative bits of flirtation.”

“Really?” Emily was peering at him with undisguised affection and amusement. “And then what?”

“We’d talk a walk around the downtown area because it’s a nice night. Maybe stop and get some ice cream. I’d spend a lot of time watching you walk and thinking about how nice it would be to kiss you.”

He reached up, drew her sunglasses away from her face, and lightly touched her cheek. Her eyes had darkened and her breathing was coming faster.

“And when we got back to my car for the ride home, I’d open your door for you. And as you went to climb in, I’d stop you, turn you around, take you in my arms, and kiss you.”

He leaned forward, hoping against hope that she’d meet him halfway, and felt his heart leap when his lips brushed hers, which were warm, full, and responsive. His hand circled the back of her neck, urging her closer, and hers came up to rest on his chest.

He wanted to live forever inside that kiss, the sweetness of her on his lips, the taste of her in his mouth. He whispered her name, then groaned it, and thrilled when he heard her murmur his in response … not ‘Rossi’ but ‘Dave.’ His name had never sounded so sensual.

She broke the kiss and he let her. For all he knew, she didn’t want to be kissed that way by him. But one look at her face when he opened his eyes told him that wasn’t anything he needed to worry about. There was heat in Emily Prentiss’ eyes-- not the warmth of friendship and camaraderie but the flare of tamped down spark and flame.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she breathed.

“I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

“We work together.”

“And?”

“And nothing, kiss me again.” She was the aggressor this time and reached for him, her mouth seeking his, her hands squeezing at his shoulders. He pulled her to him, splayed his hands across her back, and poured every ounce of pent up sexual energy into the joining of their lips.

“Christ, Emily, you’re going to burn me up!” he groaned, sliding a hand under her shirt to touch her bare skin. “At this rate I don’t even want to think about going out.”

“Oh, I think we’re staying in,” Emily replied, fingers fumbling on the buttons of his shirt. “At least until we get this out of our systems. I couldn’t go anywhere now without wanting to pull you into a dark corner.”

He grinned at her boldness. “YOU were planning on pulling ME into a dark corner?” He gently tipped her neck back and kissed the line of her throat. “Emily Prentiss, what has gotten into you?”

“Nothing yet,” she replied brashly, sliding his shirt off his shoulders. “But I think you’re going to change that.” She brought her mouth to his bare shoulder and bit, making his skin sing.

“So this is you, scratching an itch?” He wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

Emily stilled her hands and mouth and looked right at him. “No,” she said firmly. “This isn’t me scratching an itch. This is me making love to a man who I can’t seem to get out of my head.” She laid her palm against his cheek and stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “Is that okay?”

“Better than okay,” he murmured, kissing the inside of her palm. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

***

Once they made their way into the house and into his room, they stayed there, locked together, kissing, caressing, and exploring every inch of each other.

He lingered inside Emily, savoring the heat they generated together, glorying in how responsive she was to his touch, how wet and ready she was whenever his fingers slid to the places she most wanted them to be.

It was a heady experience, being with Emily Prentiss. She wasn’t shy about her sexuality, but she wasn’t domineering either. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it … or simply to take his hands and show him what it was she wanted. She was eager to make love and to be made love to and she was generous with her kisses and caresses.

He’d expected her to be self-conscious about the scar from the puncture wound she’d received at Doyle’s hands but she paid that no more mind than the tattoo at the small of her back that he’d finally gotten to see (an owl silhouetted against a full moon). She was more embarrassed by the discolored mark on her upper chest from the brand that Doyle had seared onto her skin … it had actually taken some coaxing to get her to look at him as he gently touched, then kissed the mark, treating it as if it were no more important than any other small blemish on her skin.

“I—I hate that,” she murmured, brushing her hair out of her eyes self-consciously. “It’s a constant reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” He lightly touched the area in question, stroking with gentle fingers.

“Him. That day. The stupid mistakes I made.”

Rossi tipped her chin up, waited till her eyes were on his face. “Don’t give him that kind of power over you. You can give it a different meaning, make it a different reminder.”

“A reminder of what?” Emily laughed haltingly. “I can’t even begin to think of a way to make that mark seem like a good thing.”

He bent his head to the small patch of skin and nipped, scraping with his teeth and tongue then moving up her neck and throat to her mouth where he kissed her, long and deep. When Emily pulled away, she was laughing in happy, genuine bursts of giggles.

“Did you REALLY just leave a hickey on me, David Rossi?”

“Yes. I thought it might give you a more pleasant association for that particular bit of skin.” He kissed her again and whispered against her mouth, “Are you planning to do something about that?”

“I might leave a mark or two on you,” she replied and pounced playfully, rolling him onto his back and sinking down on top of him with a soft sigh.

If it weren’t for Mudge forlornly whining in the hallway, they might never have come up for air. Emily flopped onto her back on the sheets, breathing hard.

“I think Mudge is lonely.”

Dave rolled onto his side to check the clock and laughed. “He’s not lonely … he’s hungry. I forgot to feed him.” He placed a kiss on Emily’s shoulder. “I was too busy feeding my own appetite.”

She laughed. “God, Dave, that’s a terrible line! It sounds like a cliché out of a romance novel!”

“Well, no one said I was a good writer.” He ran a hand up and down her hip. “You hungry, baby?”

“I could eat.” She took his hand in hers and kissed the center of his palm. “If I get to have you for dessert.”

He laughed. “Now who sounds like a romance novel?”

“Never said I was a writer either.” She smiled at him. “You’d better get out of bed while I get my breath … otherwise I may not let you leave.”

Rossi rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of cargo shorts that were lying on the chair next to the window. “I’ll go feed the Mudge man, then bring us something up. Sound good?”

“Sounds decadent.” Emily stretched languidly. “You know, if we keep on like this, I may never get around to finding another apartment.”

He took Emily’s face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Who said I wanted you to?”

 

END. 


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